


Mistletoe

by 15Acesplz



Series: Happily Ever After 'verse [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Erasure, Bisexual Grantaire, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Drinking, Drunken Confessions, Eggnog, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Grantaire is related to the Thenardiers, I don't know what happened I'm sorry, I'm done tagging now I promise, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Kinda, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Enjolras, Oblivious Grantaire, Sharing a Bed, Shopping Malls, Snowball Fight, because why the hell not, is there a tag for mutual obliviousness?, it barely counts, just his mom having a different generational understanding of his sexuality, so much cheesy holiday fluff, the gracious Christmas gift of their relationship being unrealistically easy, this whole thing is very much fulfilling my personal need for an exr happy ending, which is in no way as much of an issue as it realistically would be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-09 03:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5523512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/15Acesplz/pseuds/15Acesplz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Now, tell me, is there anyone special in your life?”<br/>“Um…”<br/>“Alain, what are you doing with your time if you don’t have a good job and you aren’t meeting people?”<br/>“I-I am seeing someone,” Grantaire found himself saying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just doin a Christmas thing. It'll be done before the New Year. Probably.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Now, tell me, is there anyone special in your life?”  
> “Um…”  
> “Alain, what are you doing with your time if you don’t have a good job and you aren’t meeting people?”  
> “I-I am seeing someone,” Grantaire found himself saying.

It had started out as a joke.

Two weeks before the holiday break started the Friends of the ABC were in a bar on a Friday night getting very, very drunk. After they wrapped up club business everyone relaxed and the meeting melted into a social affair. Enjolras had been practically forced to stay, a drink pushed into his hand without the prelude of asking if he wanted one. He didn’t, really, but he drank it anyway, and then started on a second, by which time his head was buzzing in a not entirely unpleasant way.

He watched as his friends chatted and laughed, at peace with the world (the work he had ahead of him – both his upcoming schoolwork and his long-term duty to better humanity – had somehow slipped his mind). Their topic of conversation veered towards holiday plans.

“’re you goin’ anywhere, Enjolras?” Bahorel asked at one point, slurring his name terribly. It occurred to Enjolras that most of the group was quite a bit drunker than he.

He shook his head, and Bossuet launched into a disastrous tale from his last Christmas visit home.

After Bossuet finished his story and they’d gotten most of their laughter out, Grantaire leaned back in his chair, emptied his bottle in one swig, and groaned dramatically. “’m expected back home this year,” he said. “Managed to beg off the last two Christmases, but now ‘t I finally finished school ‘m outta excuses.” He sighed and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. “M’ family’s thinkin’ ‘ll be successful.” He snorted at the notion. “But ‘m not. Don’t even have some hot n’ successful girl – or guy –,” he added, “t’ show off.”

A tiny voice in Enjolras’s head protested to the idea of showing off a person like they were an object, but he told it that it was too uptight and sipped his beer.

“At least… you have us,” Jean Prouvaire said with a small sigh, letting their head fall on Marius’s shoulder.

“Yeah!” Courfeyrac yelled suddenly. “Hey, Aire, we’re all hot n’ successful! Y’ should take one ‘f us t’ make y’ look good!”

The group laughed together. “That’s stupid, Courf.” Grantaire grinned anyway.

“No, no, really!” Courfeyrac waved his hand excitedly and accidentally smacked the side of Bossuet’s head. “If y’ did do it, which ‘f us would y’ take? Don’ pick Marius.”

Cosette giggled from her spot on Marius’s lap. “Why not?”

“’Cause he’s a doofus,” Courfeyrac said simply, patting Marius on the head like he was a dog. “N’ he’s busy for Christmas.”

“Most ‘f us are, dumbass,” Bahorel crowed.

“Enjolras isn’,” Joly piped up helpfully.

Everyone turned to Enjolras. He blinked at them, a bit confused with how quickly the conversation had progressed. “Wait, what ‘m I picked for?”

“T’ be Aire’s fake boyfriend!” Bossuet supplied cheerfully.

“Yes!” Courfeyrac practically shrieked. Marius winced next to him. “You have t’ do it, ‘s perfect!”

Still a little lost, Enjolras automatically nodded his head. “Okay.”

Courfeyrac clapped his hands in delight and everyone else laughed. The topic was forgotten for the rest of the night.

\- - - - -

Grantaire was awakened sometime around noon by his phone blasting “Here Comes the Sun”. He moaned, willing it to shut up, and buried himself further into his sheets. No use. Grantaire had already been up at eight to throw up a few times, and he did not feel prepared to face the world yet. He briefly entertained the idea that whoever had turned his volume up had hell to pay, but it had probably been him. It had also been him to set stupid songs as ringtones to match each of his friends. At that point the intelligent part of his brain caught up to part screeching for quiet and darkness and he realized that song signaled a message from Enjolras.

His curiosity finally trumped his headache and he emerged from the bed covers to locate his phone. The song had almost finished by that point and the phone was discovered on the floor next to the bed.

_When do you leave for the holidays?_

What the hell was Enjolras asking that for? Grantaire wracked his brains and slowly recalled the conversation of the previous night.

**_You don’t have to come w me_ **

**_Just a joke_ **

**_Forget about it_ **

On impulse, he added,

**_Sorry_ **

He set the phone down and put his face in his hands, feeling halfway ready to murder Courfeyrac. He remembered everything now: the group responding to his whining with their usual support; the idiotic idea that bringing a date home would make him look good; the collective decision that Enjolras – Enjolras, of all people, who he’d been stupid over for two years – was the best candidate for the job; the twinge of pain at the thought of Enjolras pretending not just to like him, but to love him; the next drink that he numbed that pain with. What a horrible idea. Enjolras would understand, though; they had all been plastered, and he probably didn’t even want to do it anyway. He probably had just felt obligated because he said he would.

Grantaire put the affair out of his mind for over a week. Then three days before he was due home, his mother called, asking all the questions he’d hoped to avoid.

“So, I’m sure you have a wonderful job right now, right?”

Grantaire paused. “Um… I had something good a while ago. A gig doing caricatures at a wedding.”

His mother made a noise of approval. “That’s nice! When was that?”

He thought back. “October?” He said weakly.

She clucked her tongue. “Alain, if that’s the last job you had, how are you surviving? Please don’t tell me you go to a food bank.”

“I don’t go to a food bank, Mom! I have a job, I’m a bartender.”

“A bartender? Honey, with your habits, are you sure that’s wise?”

He groaned, “Mom! I’m serving the drinks, not drinking them!”

“If you insist,” she sighed. “Now, tell me, is there anyone special in your life?”

“Um…”

“Alain, what are you doing with your time if you don’t have a good job and you aren’t meeting people?”

“I-I am seeing someone,” Grantaire found himself saying.

His mother perked up considerably. “That’s good! Tell me all about her.”

Grantaire cleared his throat, “Him,” he mumbled.

“What’s that?”

“I’m seeing a guy, not a girl.”

His mother laughed, “Oh, I’m sorry, honey, I keep forgetting that you like men, too, even though you aren’t fully gay.”

“It’s called bisexual, Mom- “

“Yes, dear, you told me, I just forgot. Now, about this boy you’re seeing?”

Grantaire almost wanted to backpedal and say there wasn’t really anyone, but he didn’t. “He’s finishing undergrad this year.”

“Your age?”

“A little younger. But he’s going to grad school next, so,”

“Grad school! How ambitious! What does he study?” She pressed.

“Political science and history.”

“A double major? Well, he must certainly be a smart young man. How did you meet him?”

Grantaire was still repeatedly kicking himself, but on the other hand, his mother was eating this up, and her approval made him feel a lot less like a failure. “He runs this activism group? I started going to the meetings.”

“He’s an activist, too? My, where does he find the time?” she exclaimed.

Grantaire smiled a little in spite of himself, “I guess he’s pretty passionate about what he does.”

“I can tell you like him a lot, honey.” Jesus, did he really sound that far gone? “Will we be meeting him at Christmas?”

Grantaire hesitated. “Um, maybe. I have to check and see if he’s busy.”

“Tell me right away when you know, okay? We’re all very excited to see you.”

He said goodbye and hung up, and then called Enjolras. “Hey, uh, remember that offer you made a while back? I might want to reconsider.”   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayyyyy I fixed the format! I also changed some other stuff too but mostly grammar and none of the plot.  
> As with my other exr fic, Enjolras's texts are italicized and Grantaire's are both bold and italicized.  
> Also, please don't ask me why this is called Mistletoe. I do not know. I cannot promise that there will be any mistletoe featured in this fic.  
> Thanks to everyone for all the kudos and comments!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire banged his head on the edge of the bar. “I’m an idiot,” He said, his voice a bit muffled. “Guys, tell me I’m an idiot.”  
> “You’re an idiot,” Joly assured him.

Grantaire banged his head on the edge of the bar. “I’m an idiot,” He said, his voice a bit muffled. “Guys, tell me I’m an idiot.”

“You’re an idiot,” Joly assured him.

Bossuet made a noise of disbelief, “So you actually…”

“Told my mom I’m dating Enjolras?” He lifted his head and looked at Bossuet. “Yeah.”

Bossuet practically cackled, “Oh my god, that’s priceless!” Joly started to snicker, too.

“Guys,” Grantaire whined, “I’m in deep emotional pain here!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Bossuet waved his hand dismissively, still laughing. “I just can’t believe you asked Enjolras to pretend to date you for a week.”

“I can’t believe he said yes.” Joly commented.

Grantaire let his head drop a second time. “He thought he had to,” he moaned, “since he agreed to do it before.”

“So, what? You guys are going to hold hands? Kiss? Call each other _sweetie_?” Joly questioned. Bossuet cracked up again.

“God, I don’t know. Probably. I don’t want to think about it.” He glanced at Joly. “Actually, I’m more concerned with how we’re going to go a week without fighting.”

“That could be a problem,” Joly mused. “But couples do fight sometimes, right?”

“Couples,” Grantaire said with a bitter laugh, lifting up his drink, “do not finish fights by calling each other a waste of space.”  
Joly and Bossuet shared a discreet glance that Grantaire noticed anyway. They all remembered that argument, even though it was months ago. Thinking about it, as Grantaire did from time to time, still stung.

He drained his glass and declared, “I must be a masochist.”

“Probably,” Bossuet agreed, patting his back.

“I could not go through with it,” he offered half-heartedly.

Joly raised an eyebrow. “And tell you mother you lied about having a handsome, ambitious boyfriend?”

Grantaire shook his head mournfully. There was no way out of this one. “I told you,” he reiterated, “Masochist.”

\- - - - -

Grantaire arrived at Enjolras’s apartment at 9 AM on the twenty-first looking distinctly disgruntled.

“Hey,” Enjolras greeted. “I’m almost ready, I’ll be out in a minute… Are you okay?”

“Tired,” Grantaire answered shortly. “Too early.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. He shouldn’t have expected Grantaire to be the type to rise early. “Of course. Just let me get my things.”

Ten minutes later he and Grantaire were in the car and on their way. “Where are we going again?” he asked.

“Born. Down near Lyon. You know it’s gonna be five hours, right?” He glanced at Enjolras briefly.

“Oh,” was all he could think to say.

“Sorry,” Grantaire said. “I know it’s a long drive.”

“It’s fine,” Enjolras insisted. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“So,” Grantaire started, “read anything lately?”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “You’re not very good at small talk.”

Grantaire snorted, “Says you. You didn’t even say anything.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes again. It seemed he was going to be doing that a lot with Grantaire around. “Fine. The last thing I read was The Communist Manifesto.”

“Tear down the bourgeois and all that, huh? Sounds like a barrel of laughs.”

Even without looking, Enjolras knew that Grantaire was smiling in that infuriating way he did. “You’re mocking me,” he accused in an irritated tone.

“Oh, come on, you have to admit that most people don’t read The Communist Manifesto for fun.”

“It wasn’t for fun,” Enjolras huffed. “It was school work. I wanted to cite it in an essay, so I read the whole thing as a refresher.”

“You’ve read it more than once?” Yeah, Grantaire was definitely smiling, and definitely mocking him. “How many times?”

“Six,” Enjolras grumbled waspishly.

Grantaire outright laughed at that, “You must be a regular expert by now,” he quipped. “A young budding Marx.”

“Just because- I don’t necessarily-” Enjolras hated that Grantaire of all people had him at a loss for words. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

Grantaire smirked. “I try.”

Enjolras stewed quietly for a minute more before jumping into a tirade on unfair prejudices about Marxism. Grantaire picked up the argument enthusiastically, and it kept them occupied for a good two hours, until Grantaire interrupted Enjolras in the middle of his schpeal, asking, “Do you want to stop for lunch?” Enjolras grudgingly agreed and they stopped in Auxerre.

Enjolras groaned when Grantaire pulled up to a McDonald’, “No, Aire, the food here is disgusting.”

“I think you’ll also find it’s cheap. I’m already shelling out a fortune for gas on this trip.”

“There must be other cheap food in the area. God, anywhere but here,” Enjolras pleaded.

“Don’t be such a snob, Apollo,” Grantaire said lightly. “Come eat some grease and meat by-product with me.”

In the end Enjolras conceded, but he made sure everyone – including the teenager taking their order – knew he was not happy with the situation.

“Jesus, I’m never travelling with you again,” Grantaire said when they sat down. “You can’t even stand a little fast food without pitching a fit.”

“I didn’t pitch a fit,” Enjolras denied. He wrinkled his nose at the sight of Grantaire’s hamburger and went back to picking at his own mediocre salad.

“You totally did,” Grantaire replied, “but whatever. I thought we should probably talk a little before we get to Born.”

“Okay, what about?”

Grantaire grimaced like he was about to do something unpleasant. “Um, well… since my family thinks we’re a couple… we might have to do some couple-y things. To make it seem realistic, you know?”

Enjolras nodded in understanding. “We should probably establish some boundaries,” he agreed.

“Yeah. I just wanted to know what you think they should be.” Grantaire appeared uncertain, as if he thought Enjolras was about to get mad at him.

Enjolras thought about it. “Well, we could hold hands,” he offered.

“Yeah. Sure. Sounds good.” Grantaire nodded quickly and looked down at his food. “That’s settled, now.”

Enjolras frowned. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t be opposed to close-mouthed kissing. And it would make things more believable.”

Grantaire paled, and then rapidly went red. “I-I wouldn’t want to force you into anything…”

“Don’t worry, Grantaire, I’m offering.” Enjolras eyed him with concern. “Are you alright?”

Grantaire cleared his throat and nodded, “Yeah, I’m fine. Okay. We got that worked out. Good.”

“Good,” Enjolras repeated.

They finished eating and returned to the road. Grantaire turned on the radio and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the time of the music, singing softly along to the songs he knew. Enjolras found himself drifting off, and soon enough he’d fallen asleep to the sound of Grantaire’s voice.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is in fact a McDonald's in Auxerre, I checked.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire was faced with a serious dilemma.

Grantaire was faced with a serious dilemma. On one hand, they had just arrived at Grantaire’s parents’ house and he should probably wake Enjolras up. On the other hand, Enjolras looked fucking adorable asleep. To complicate matters, his mother was rapidly approaching the car, ready with what was certain to be a rather loud greeting. Grantaire made some very clear “no” gestures and pointed at Enjolras, putting his finger to his lips. His mother hesitated and hovered near the car until he signaled for her to go back inside, mouthing, _Five minutes._ She smiled brightly, nodded, and hurried away.

Once she was gone Grantaire turned back to Enjolras, felt his heart break a little at his soft, untroubled appearance, and nudged him awake. “Hey, Enjolras,” he murmured, “we’re here.”

Enjolras stirred and blinked sleepily, looking so much like a confused kitten that Grantaire almost whimpered. “Hm?”

“We’re here,” he repeated, pointing to the house.

Enjolras looked at the house, finally seeming to wake up. “Oh. Alright. Let’s go, then.”

They retrieved their bags from the backseat, and before they started up the walk Enjolras offered his hand to Grantaire. Grantaire took it and tried not to think too hard about what was happening.

He’d only just rang the doorbell when his mother threw open the door. “Alain! Merry Christmas, come inside.” As soon as they stepped in she hugged him. “It’s so good to see you, dear.”

Grantaire smiled and did his best to keep hold of his bag. “Hi, Mom.”

She turned her attention to Enjolras, beaming. “You must be the boy Alain told me about. What’s your name, again?”

“Enjolras.” He smiled and held out his hand in greeting.

She tisked, waved his hand away, and embraced him tightly. “It’s just lovely to meet you, Enjolras.”

Grantaire laughed a little at Enjolras’s stiff discomfort, “Leave him alone, Mom, we just got here.”

She reluctantly stepped back, still smiling. “My, Alain, you certainly picked a handsome one,” she observed.

Grantaire blushed to the tips of his ears. He changed the topic quickly. “Who else is here?”

“Your cousins just arrived. I tried to convince their parents to join us, but they said they were busy.” She shook her head.

“Where’s Ponine?” Grantaire asked. It had been a while since he saw his younger cousins.

“She and the other kids are out in the back, but you two should get settled in before you go say hi, you look exhausted, Alain.”

“Right. My room’s up here.” He led Enjolras up the stairs and into his room. It still appeared the same as it always had when he was a teenager, though a bit less of a disaster. There were random art supplies strewn around on various surfaces, and the closet was probably still full of those stupid baggy hoodies he used to think were angsty and cool, and there had to be a few half-empty bottles of liquor tucked away in random spots.

Oh, and he still had the same bed. A single full bed.

He hesitated. “It’s okay if we share, right? If it isn’t, just say the word, I’ll take the floor. No one would know.”

“Oh, don’t. I’m not about to take your bed from you,” Enjolras tutted. “We’ll share.”

“Great. Okay.” Grantaire searched for something to say.

“So,” Enjolras started before Grantaire could think of something. “your name’s Alain?”

Grantaire grimaced. “Yeah, please don’t call me that. Ever.”

Enjolras laughed softly, “Okay, then. Grantaire it is.”

\- - - - -

“Aire!” A young boy was bolting towards them, wearing a toothy grin. “You’re here!” He turned his head and called over his shoulder to the two girls tramping through the snow to where they stood. “Ponine, Zelma, Aire’s here!”

“Yeah, we see him,” the older girl replied. “Hey,” she greeted Grantaire.

“Jesus Christ, what happened? You guys all got so big.” Grantaire was smiling so hard he looked like his face was about to split.

The oldest rolled her eyes. “Yeah, because you were MIA for three years, asshole.” She glanced at Enjolras, “Who’s he?”

“Uh, Éponine, Azelma, Gavroche, this is Enjolras.” His eyes darted to Enjolras, then he went on, “My boyfriend. Enjolras, these are my cousins.”

“Éponine has a boyfriend, too,” the boy – Gavroche – announced.

“No one cares, Vroche,” Azelma shot back. Gavroche just smiled cheekily.

“How old are you now, Gavroche? Ten?” Grantaire asked.

“Eleven,” he answered proudly. “And Zelma’s fifteen, and Ponine is eighteen, and she has a car.”

“Your parents got you a car?” Grantaire sounded surprised.

Éponine scoffed, “Of course not, I bought it. You think they’d bother?”

Grantaire smiled ruefully. “Not really.”

“She drives me places!” Gavroche practically yelled.

Grantaire chuckled, “Sounds awesome. We should go inside and talk more.”

Gavroche led the way inside, running to the door, then back to the others, then back to the door, until they caught up with him. Grantaire’s mother saw them come in, ushered them into the kitchen, and started to interrogate Enjolras and Grantaire. “He barely told me anything about you,” she tutted, shooting a look at Grantaire. “Now, how long have you two been together?”

Enjolras and Grantaire made eye contact. They hadn’t thought to discuss this. Grantaire coughed, “Uh, we’ve known each other for about two years,” he started.

“We’ve been dating for six months,” Enjolras supplied, improvising.

Grantaire started to relax a little. “Yeah, six months.”

His mother clasped her hands together. “Wonderful. How did you meet?”

“I already told you, Mom, the activism group – “

“Did you tell her the story, though?”

Grantaire frowned. “What story?”

“He wouldn’t tell me anything, dear,” his mother told Enjolras.

Enjolras smiled. “Oh, you have to remember. That one rally? I was giving a speech about education reform, and he walked up to me after and told me in about three sentences every reason my views were misguided. We argued for probably an hour. I told him to come to my club’s meeting so I could prove him wrong.” He reached out and took Grantaire’s hand. “And he did.”

By that time Grantaire’s face was a curious shade of pink. He laughed nervously, “Yeah. That’s what happened. To be fair, you’re a naïve idealist.”

“And you are a pessimist.” Enjolras almost hesitated, but he figured that they’d already been through this, and he pecked Grantaire on the cheek.

“Ew!” Gavroche called out from his place across the table, probably just out of formality.

“That’s such a lovely story, Alain,” Grantaire’s mother exclaimed, “I don’t see why you didn’t tell me.”

Grantaire was blushing harder than ever. Enjolras frowned, hoping he hadn’t made him uncomfortable, but he was distracted by Gavroche asking with an innocent look on his face, “Aunt Patricia, can we make cookies?”

Grantaire’s mother smiled and agreed, and Grantaire’s cousins dove into the task, leaving Enjolras and Grantaire sitting alone.          

“That was okay, right?” Enjolras muttered, still feeling the need for assurance.

Grantaire nodded, not meeting his eyes. “Uh, yeah,” he replied. “You did great.” He glanced at the others, then finally looked at Enjolras, grinning crookedly. “So, you want to make cookies?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire's mom is such a mom, isn't she? The momest mom who ever momed.  
> It usually isn't quite cold enough to snow in Born in December but shhhh snow makes it more magical  
> Grantaire's dad in next chapter! :D (the happy face is v sarcastic and you will know why soon)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’re having a snowball war!” Gavroche declared, his mitted hands on his hips.

Grantaire’s father arrived in time for dinner, and they all sat down to eat after introductions had been made.

“So,” his father started, “you’re still doing that art stuff?”

Grantaire could feel everyone’s eyes on him. He focused on his plate. “Uh, yeah. I am.”

“Hm.”

Grantaire relaxed, assuming he was off the hook, until his father spoke again.

“Your mother told me you don’t even have a real job.”

Grantaire gritted his teeth, “I have a job,” he said tersely, “I’ve had a job for about three years now.”

“Well,” his father replied with a sigh, “you didn’t spend six years at university learning how to serve drinks, did you?”

Grantaire was starting to get frustrated. ‘it’s not easy to find steady work in art, that’s why I have a second job,” he bit out.

“If you knew that, then why didn’t you pursue accounting as I encouraged you to?”

Grantaire breathed out his nose, “I don’t know, maybe because I’m shit at math,” he snapped.

“Alain!” his mother remonstrated.

He raised his head up, scowling, and saw Gavroche and Azelma exchange a look. He dropped his eyes to the table. “Sorry,” he grumbled.

“I just don’t think you’ve made very wise decisions, Alain,” his father continued.

“Jesus Christ,” Grantaire groaned, “I’m an artist. Get over it!” He glared at his father. “This is why I didn’t want to come last year. Or the year before that.”

“Oh, honey…” His mother’s tone was wounded. “You told us you were too busy to come.”

“I was busy,” he retorted, “I also didn’t want to.”

“You’re acting like a child, Alain,” his father said sternly. “Cut the dramatics, would you?”

“You’re the one who wanted to have this argument,” Grantaire muttered. Seconds later he was surprised by Enjolras’s hand on his elbow. He glanced at him. His gaze was gentle and concerned. Grantaire knew it was just for show, but it calmed him anyway. He took a deep breath, “You know what, never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

After a pregnant pause his mother picked up the conversation. “Grandma and Grandpa are arriving on Wednesday, Alain.”

Grantaire nodded. “Oh, that’s good. You’ll get to meet my whole family, then,” he commented to Enjolras.

Enjolras smiled. “That sounds nice.”

Grantaire could have imagined it, or it could have been an accident, but he thought Enjolras gave his elbow another reassuring squeeze, under the table and out of sight.

\- - - - -

“Hey, uh, sorry that you had to sit through that.”

Enjolras glanced at Grantaire, who was watching him sheepishly. “What?”

“The stuff at dinner,” Grantaire explained, “It’s just, my dad’s always been a dick about art and it sets me off. So, sorry.”

“It’s fine, Grantaire.” He turned back to his bag, tucking away the clothes he’d just exchanged for pajamas.

They both hesitated before actually getting into the bed. “How do we want to do this?” Grantaire asked.

After much awkward shuffling, they both got settled, lying with their backs to each other. Enjolras could feel Grantaire trying not to move and knew he was doing it himself, too tensed up to actually sleep. He just wasn’t used to relaxing while that close to another person. At one point his foot brushed against Grantaire’s, and they both drew in a sharp breath and retracted quickly. Eventually, though, fatigue overcame Enjolras, and he fell asleep.

\- - - - -

Grantaire’s first observation when he woke up was that he was very warm and very comfortable. His second observation was that he was essentially attached to Enjolras. He was pressed up against Enjolras’s side, their legs were nothing short of entangled, and Enjolras’s face was inches from his. Grantaire promptly fell off the bed in his scramble to get away, thus waking Enjolras up.

“Shit!” he hissed, rubbing where he’d fallen on his hip.

“Aire?” Enjolras’s voice was drowsy and confused. “You’re on the floor,” he noted next.

“Yeah, sorry I woke you up,” Grantaire said with a wince, “You can go back to sleep.”

“No, no,” He sat up and yawned, then looked at Grantaire. “Did you fall out of bed?”

Grantaire stood up gingerly, still holding his hip, “Yeah. It’s just, we were kind of…cuddling, and it startled me.”

Enjolras blinked. “Oh.”

Grantaire felt the back of his neck flush. “Sorry.”

Enjolras tilted his head, as if he was trying to see Grantaire from a clearer angle. “You don’t have to apologize.”

Grantaire couldn’t think of anything to say to that except ‘sorry’, so he didn’t say anything.

“You do that a lot.”

“What?”

“Apologize.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry about it. I just noticed.” Enjolras shrugged. Then he smirked playfully. “It’s kind of weird, since I don’t think you ever once apologized for repeatedly attacking my morals.”

Grantaire laughed, just as teasing, “I never apologize for telling the truth.”

\- - - - -

“We’re having a snowball war!” Gavroche declared, his mitted hands on his hips. “You gotta make a wall to hide behind and snowballs to throw. Then after ten minutes of preparing, we attack. Me and Zelma and Ponine are against you guys.”

“That’s three to two,” Grantaire pointed out. Enjolras just watched the exchange.

“You’re bigger than us,” Gavroche explained, then returned to giving orders. “Ponine, put your timer on.” She obliged, pulling off her glove to tap the allotted ten minutes into her phone. “The only rule is no rocks. Now, go!”

Grantaire grabbed Enjolras by the arm and they ran to the opposite end of the yard. “I’ve done this before, so I’ll make the wall,” he said. “You do snowballs.”  

Enjolras scooped up a big handful of snow, packed it into a ball, and looked at Grantaire curiously. “You have?”

“Gavroche came up with it when he was five. We’ve done it ever since.” Grantaire smiled absently. “It’s the only thing I was really looking forward to this year.”

Enjolras smiled as well, glad to see Grantaire enjoying something. In the two years they’d known each other, Enjolras had always thought Grantaire’s default mood seemed to be somewhere between morose and mordant.

Before they knew it, Éponine called across the no man’s land between them, “Time’s up!” Enjolras reached for a snowball to throw, but Grantaire held out his arm.

“No, no, wait,” he warned. “They always do this. They’re making a battle plan of some sort. We have to use the extra time to make more snowballs.”

Enjolras frowned. “Couldn’t we just attack straightaway when their guard is down?”

Grantaire gaped at him. “Even Éponine I have like eight years on, Enjolras. I always let them plan something. Jesus, you’re merciless,” he grinned.

Enjolras sighed, “If you insist.”

So they spent more time preparing. Soon enough they had as many snowballs as they could fit behind their small blockade, and there was nothing left to do but stay crouched on their knees and wait for the first attack from the other side. After a while Enjolras got restless, despite Grantaire telling him to be patient. He just was not a patient man, especially when it came to making actions of the fighting variety. That was what led him to take a snowball and crush it on the back of Grantaire’s exposed neck.

“Holy –” Grantaire yelped, his hand flying to his neck. He glared at Enjolras and grabbed his own snowball, smushing it into the side of Enjolras’s face. Enjolras gasped at the cold and inched back, finding a snowball behind him without looking before he dropped it down Grantaire’s shirt.

“Oh my god, you –” Grantaire lunged forward and knocked Enjolras to the ground, assaulting him with more snowballs. Enjolras managed to roll over and pin Grantaire to the ground and made his own strike.

At some point it became less about snowballs and more about just tussling. Neither of them realized they’d knocked down most of their protective wall until they were hit with an onslaught of snowballs from directly above them. Grantaire’s cousins had taken advantage of the commotion and were standing over them with their arms full of snowballs, which they pelted at them until they were covered with snow. By the time they ran out of ammunition, Enjolras and Grantaire were both breathless with laughter and soaked to the bone.

“O-okay,” Grantaire choked out, “You guys win.”

“Yes!” Gavroche shouted, victorious.

Grantaire propped himself up. “This is all your fault, you know,” he told Enjolras, still laughing, “Friendly fire never ends well.”

Enjolras couldn’t help but privately disagree. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun.

\- - - - -

Grantaire was delighted with how the day had turned out. He got to spend time with his cousins, which he always loved, and also interacted extensively with Enjolras, an activity that had surprisingly not ended in blood or tears (though it had ended in quite a lot of snow). Despite the fun they’d had together, he couldn’t have been more surprised when, while they lay in bed that night, Enjolras sighed and pressed his back up against Grantaire’s.

“That’s okay, right?” Enjolras murmured. Grantaire didn’t know what to say. “It just seems silly to be so stiff and uncomfortable.”

Grantaire’s breath felt caught in his throat. He coughed a little. “Um, yeah,” he replied. “It’s fine.”

Enjolras hummed, “Okay. Goodnight.”

Grantaire could feel the heat rising in his face. Then he paused, and reprimanded himself. He’d been enamored with Enjolras for years, and nothing had come of it. He had to stop being so stupid and move on, especially now that it seemed he had a chance at an actual friendship with Enjolras.

He’d gotten closer to him than he ever could have hoped, and he didn’t want to lose that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh bed sharing is my favorite fanfiction trope and I am not ashamed


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two days before Christmas, Grantaire told Enjolras over breakfast that they were going shopping.

Two days before Christmas, Grantaire told Enjolras over breakfast that they were going shopping.

“What?”

“It’s a tradition,” Grantaire explained. “We drive up to Lyon and spend the day at the mall. My mom used to take us, before I could drive. I guess this year Ponine can take the others in her car.”

“Damn straight I can,” Éponine commented. “I drove the last two years when you were too busy pitying yourself to show up.”

Grantaire shook his head, but he was smiling. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Don’t count on it.”

After breakfast was a flurry of preparations for the day, and they were on their way to Lyon.

“Where are we going?” Enjolras asked in the car.

“The Part-Dieu mall,” Grantaire answered. “It’s fucking huge, so we’ll probably have a buddy system. Anyone under seventeen has to be with someone over seventeen at all times, or something. They have like two hundred stores. There’s this one place that I always go…”

For the rest of the drive, Enjolras let Grantaire ramble on about anything and everything. It seemed like he could talk forever if given the opportunity, jumping haphazardly from topic to topic. Enjolras had never really noticed that about him before. Maybe, he thought, he just hadn’t taken the time to listen.

The Part-Dieu mall, was, in fact, fucking huge. Enjolras counted four floors, all visible from the very center. He only hoped that he wouldn’t get lost.

“Okay,” Éponine said in a commanding tone, once they were all gathered and ready to go, “it’s eleven now. You guys can go together, I’ll take Zelma and Vroche, and we meet back at this fountain at one for lunch. Okay?”

“Yes, sir, Éponine,” Grantaire replied with an impish grin, clicking his heels.

Éponine just rolled her eyes. “See you in three hours.” They split up.

“So,” Grantaire said, turning to Enjolras, “what do you want to see first?”

Enjolras smiled and shrugged. “Lead the way.”

For the rest of the morning Grantaire escorted Enjolras through the mall, stopping frequently and insisting that there was something they absolutely had to see, before they moved on. Like he had earlier, he talked nineteen to the dozen. Enjolras hadn’t ever thought he’d meet someone who could outtalk him, but Grantaire appeared to be a strong candidate. He’d always thought of Grantaire as only having negative things to say. Today was a clear contradiction of that.

Too soon, it was time to head back and have lunch. The two of them sat on the edge of the fountain and Grantaire revealed that he knew a frankly absurd amount of puns. Enjolras tried very hard not to smile. Contrary to popular belief, he did have a sense of humor. He just didn’t have a talent for being funny, and he appreciated it in others.

“Okay, okay, why do seagulls fly over the sea?”

Enjolras sighed heavily, “Why?”

“Because if they flew over the bay, they would be baygulls.”

He gave Grantaire his most deadpan stare while the other man cracked up at his own joke.

“Baygulls. _Bagels._ Get it?”

Enjolras’s resolve started to crumble and his mouth twitched. “Yes. I get it.”

“Okay, I have some more bird ones –”

Over Grantaire’s shoulder Enjolras saw Éponine and her siblings several hundred feet off in the crowd, the kids standing listlessly while Éponine rummaged for something in one of her bags. An idea occurred to him.

“Hey, Grantaire,” he interrupted.

“Yeah?”

“Your cousins are coming. Kiss me.”

Grantaire faltered. “I- uh- Are you sure you –” he stammered, red in the face.

“You want them to think we’re dating, don’t you?”

“I-I guess so…”

“You don’t have to, but it’s now or never,” he said solemnly.

Enjolras was pretty much convinced that Grantaire wasn’t going to do it when he when he reached out his hand, cupped Enjolras’s face, and pressed their lips together.

It was innocent, and sweet, and Enjolras found himself wanting to remember every moment of it. He wanted to remember the gentle touch of Grantaire’s hand, the coarse scrape of his facial hair. He wanted to remember that their knees were touching, that Grantaire’s lips were chapped but slightly cold, just like the tip of his nose brushing Enjolras’s. He wanted to remember that when he placed his hand on top of Grantaire’s where it rested on the cold marble of the fountain, Grantaire’s breath hitched before he let it out in a rush and titled his head closer, that the entire kiss lasted less than a minute but felt like forever.

His illusion of eternity was shattered when a shrill and clamorous voice pierced his hearing. “Hey!”

They jerked apart and turned. Gavroche was standing in front of them. Enjolras purposefully focused on him, avoiding Grantaire’s eye. He felt strangely vulnerable.

“Stop being gross and buy me a popsicle,” Gavroche demanded.

\- - - - -

After Enjolras had volunteered to treat Gavroche, and Azelma trailed along behind them, probably hoping to also get some ice cream out of the bargain, Éponine sat down next to Grantaire with a deep sigh.

“You should’ve seen how Vroche had me running around. It was ridiculous,” she said.

“What?” Grantaire was still a bit dazed. “Oh, sure.”

“You’re really crazy for him, aren’t you?” she observed.

Without realizing it, Grantaire had been staring at Enjolras as he tried to puzzle out whatever Gavroche was requesting, a familiar crease between his eyebrows. He glanced at Éponine. “Yeah. I guess.”

She went on again about Gavroche’s hijinks, but Grantaire’s mind stayed on Enjolras, until he cut Éponine off.

“Éponine? Can I tell you something?”

“Shoot.”

He looked over at Enjolras, then back to Éponine, then at the floor. “We’re not really dating,” he said quietly. “I- He’s just a friend, and I asked him to come with me, so – so I wouldn’t seem like so much of a failure.” He risked another glance at Éponine.

She was gaping at him. “You’re shitting me.”

He shook his head.

“Well, god, you could’ve fooled me, you really seem like you’re in love with him –” She stopped. “Oh my – Oh my god, Aire, are you actually…”

He nodded, grimacing. “Yeah.”

“I have to say, Aire, you are an idiot,” she said bluntly.

He sighed, “I know. I didn’t mean for it to happen, it just… sort of happened.”

“Does he know you have the hots for him?”

He watched Enjolras counting out his money while Gavroche and Azelma waited, holding their popsicles, and mulled over the question. “I don’t know,” he replied at last. “Everyone and their goddamn mother knows, it feels like, but he’s never said anything about it. We’re not even that close,” his tone turned bitter. “we just have a lot of the same friends. When we aren’t fighting he ignores me. I don’t think he knows how I feel, because if he did he’d probably hate me even more than he already does.” He snorted, “And he definitely wouldn’t have agreed to do this.”

Éponine whistled, “Jesus Christ, your love life is a mess.”

Enjolras and the kids were walking back toward them. “Tell me about it.”

\- - - - -

After lunch Grantaire offered to give Éponine a break from Gavroche (Enjolras could see why – he was as energetic and clever as two eleven year olds), so when they split up again, with plans to meet in the same spot at four, Enjolras went with Éponine and her sister. Despite losing the opportunity to spend more time with Grantaire, he was glad for the chance to find a gift for him.

As they walked through the mall he concentrated on that goal, carefully eluding any thought of the kiss. He didn’t feel ready to think about why it had been so dizzying. Instead he tried to figure out a good present. He wasn’t really in the habit of getting Grantaire gifts, aside from contributing money once when their group pooled to get him some sort of outrageously expensive art tool. He wasn’t even completely certain he knew when Grantaire’s birthday was. Looking back on all that, he felt horrible, and all the more determined to find something perfect.

When they stopped at a bookstore, Enjolras combed it over, looking for something Grantaire would enjoy. He knew Grantaire read a lot, if only from the plethora of books he’d referenced while needling Enjolras or arguing with him.

“Does Grantaire like Kurt Vonnegut?” he finally asked Éponine, at a loss.

She examined the collection of works he’d discovered, frowning. “This is the guy who wrote that one story, Harrison whatever, right?”

“Harrison Burgeon? Yeah, I think so.”

“Then if he doesn’t already, he will once he’s read this.”

“Thank you so much,” he sighed, relieved that he’d found a good book.

 Éponine scrutinized him. “Did you always know that you liked him?”

Enjolras thought that over. “No,” he said at last, “I didn’t. He could be so… antagonistic that it took me a while to see that there’s more to him.” The honesty in his statement was a bit alarming, but he smiled in spite of himself.

Éponine looked thoughtful. “Hm. Well, I do think he’ll like that book,” she said.

“Yes, well…. I hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything said about the Part-Dieu mall in Lyon is true, though I do not own it and also can't be certain that it contains books or popsicles  
> Also I don't own/am not Kurt Vonnegut but I think Grantaire would be a big fan


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras still didn’t know what to think of his bewildering feelings.

When they got back to Born, laden with bags and exhausted, Grantaire’s grandparents had arrived.

“Alain!” His grandmother hugged him, and then held him at arm’s length, beaming fondly. “It’s been too long.”

“Who is this young man?” his grandfather asked, pointing to Enjolras.

“Um, Grandma, Grandpa, I want you to meet Enjolras. He’s my boyfriend.” He took Enjolras’s hand. It seemed like with every introduction the lie got a little easier.

His grandfather observed Enjolras. “Oh, you never told us you became a gay.”

“You never tell your poor grandparents anything.” Grantaire’s grandmother shook her head and clucked her tongue.

Grantaire just smiled tightly, not really in the right state of mind to explain bisexuality to his eighty-year-old grandparents.

“It’s wonderful to meet you,” Enjolras cut in with a smile.

“Wonderful to meet you, too, dear,” Grantaire’s grandmother replied. “I hope you’re looking after my grandson while he’s off in the city. He isn’t very good at doing it himself,” she confided.

Enjolras laughed behind his hand, and Grantaire sighed, “Grandma, I’ve lived in Paris for seven years. I can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can,” she replied in an indulging tone.

Enjolras was still laughing quietly. Grantaire shot him a halfhearted glare.

Later that night, just as Grantaire was about to fall asleep, Enjolras’s voice woke him up.

“Grantaire?”

“Yeah?” he mumbled.

“Does it bother you that we kissed?”

He blinked. He hadn’t been expecting Enjolras to even acknowledge the affair. “Uh, no. No, it was fine.” Better than fine, but he wasn’t about to say that. “Why?”

“Just making sure,” he sighed.

Grantaire closed his eyes again, until Enjolras spoke again.

“Grantaire? I had fun today.”

He smiled. “Me too.” He fell asleep breathing in rhythm with Enjolras.

\- - - - -

Throughout most of the next day, Christmas Eve, the living room was dominated by a tornado of gift wrap, ribbons, and tape. Grantaire dragged out a portable radio from the depths of his closet and tuned it to a station playing Christmas carols while they worked. Every few minutes someone would be banished from the room until their gifts had been wrapped, and the heap of presents steadily accumulated, as did the mess in the room.

Enjolras learned that he still had no talent for wrapping gifts, that Grantaire could wrap gifts faster than anyone and always picked the perfect color ribbon to match the paper, and that Gavroche seemed to have learned the words to every single Christmas carol in his eleven years but couldn’t carry a tune to any of them.

While at the mall, Enjolras had also found some gifts for other friends, and once those were wrapped (admittedly with some help from Grantaire) he stowed them in his bag to take back to Paris. No one was too enthusiastic at the idea of cleaning up after the gift wrapping was complete, but Éponine took the lead in appointing everyone a small task and the laborious job got done.

Enjolras still didn’t know what to think of his bewildering feelings. All he knew for certain was that he had greatly underestimated Grantaire, that he loved spending time with him, and that he passed a good portion of that afternoon wishing he could kiss him again. As before he pushed those thoughts to the side and just tried to enjoy himself. It wasn’t very difficult. Aside from his revelations about Grantaire, he was finding that he liked the company of his cousins. Gavroche lured them all out into the snow again with a plan to make snowmen, and by the time the sun started to set they had built one with a likeness to Gavroche and a taller one resembling Grantaire. Gavroche had insisted that snow-Aire’s nose be a yam instead of a carrot, to which Grantaire laughed and protested that his nose wasn’t _that_ big until his cousins overruled him and the yam stayed where it was.

“You guys are mean,” Grantaire said with an exaggerated pout, his acting betrayed by a hint of a smile.

“Don’t worry, Aire, I like your nose,” Enjolras assured him, taking his hand.

“Aw, thanks, Ange.”

Enjolras didn’t think he’d ever heard Grantaire call him that, and for some reason found himself very taken with the name. On the impulse he’d been fighting all day, he kissed Grantaire. It wasn’t as long as the first but just as lovely. Enjolras discovered that Grantaire was a bit shorter than him, and relished the fact like a jewel.

Soon it was almost completely dark out, and they headed back inside.

Gavroche was practically bouncing off the walls for the rest of the night, until he was ushered into bed, Azelma sent after him a few hours later. Enjolras stayed up to talk with Grantaire and the rest of his family, accepting the mug of eggnog offered to him and then a refill. After the goodnights had been said, he followed Grantaire upstairs, tumbled into bed, and, slightly buzzed on eggnog, curled into Grantaire’s side, wondering if he was in love.

\- - - - -

On Christmas morning Grantaire woke up to the sound of Gavroche stampeding down the hallway past his room and realized he was hard. As quickly as he could manage, he eased out from under the arm Enjolras had inadvertently flung around his waist and stepped out into the hall, crossing paths with Éponine on his way to the bathroom.

“Happy Christmas,” she greeted.

“Happy Christmas.”

“You’re tenting.”

“Shut up, I know.”

She smiled and continued to follow after Gavroche, probably to keep him away from the tree until everyone was up.

When Grantaire went downstairs Enjolras was there, too, sitting on the couch and blinking sleepily while Gavroche examined the tree at every possible angle without touching it and Éponine made coffee in the kitchen.

“Happy Christmas,” he said, taking a seat next to Enjolras, who yawned and nodded in response. He was never as soft and relaxed as before he had fully woken up, and Grantaire had savored seeing him that way every morning of their trip.

In a few minutes they had coffee, though, and the quiet peace about him was gone by the time they were joined by everyone else. The rest of the morning passed in a flurry of tearing open gifts, exclamations of surprise and delight, smiles and hugs. Grantaire hadn’t even expected Enjolras to get him anything, but he supposed he had to keep up appearances. He couldn’t help but let a genuine smile creep onto his face when he opened the gift.

“Do you like it?” Enjolras sounded unsure.

“Are you kidding?” Grantaire laughed, “I love Vonnegut, how did you know?”  
Enjolras shrugged with a grin. “Lucky guess. You seem to like people who point out problems in the world without offering any solutions.”

He knew Enjolras was teasing him, and he sort of liked it. It was better than the way he so often treated Grantaire’s views, with his cold disdain. “Thank you, really, Ange.” He kissed Enjolras’s cheek, honestly pleased but reminding himself like every other time that it wasn’t real.

It was with an air of nervousness that he pushed Enjolras’s gift into his hand. He hadn’t meant to ever show it to Enjolras – let alone give it to him – when he painted it, but took it on the trip anyway on the off-chance that he got the guts to gift wrap it. He didn’t think he’d ever given Enjolras a serious gift before (the last one, for his birthday, had been a rider’s helmet for his high horse), but this one got close to bearing his soul.

The painting showed a man standing proud, undetailed but recognizable as Enjolras by the golden mane, holding a red flag high. The flag fluttered in an otherwise unseen wind and morphed into a whirling, fiery phoenix that made aim for the clear blue sky, a sharp contrast to the steady palette of warm tones.

It was a depiction of passion, and hope, and everything else Grantaire associated with Enjolras.

“Aire, I…” Enjolras breathed out, his voice awed, “You made this?”

Grantaire nodded sheepishly. “Uh, yeah. Do you like it?”

Enjolras stared him dead in the eye. “It’s perfect.” Then he leaned forward and kissed Grantaire, hard. The others started to pass the painting around, admiring Grantaire’s work, while he told himself, _It doesn’t mean anything._ His heart glowed at the knowledge that he’d made Enjolras happy, but that kiss, like the others, it didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter to go after this! :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas dinner was a memorable affair, for a few reasons.

Christmas dinner was a memorable affair, for a few reasons. Gavroche, in his eleven years, had just been promoted to the adult table, and took advantage of it by repeatedly trying to steal sips of wine from his sister. After he’d been reprimanded and told he wasn’t old enough, Azelma took the opportunity to ask if she was old enough, badgering her sister and reminding her that she’d be sixteen in two months until Éponine consented and poured her what probably amounted to a third of a drink.

More memorable than that, however, was the moment Grantaire found himself alone with his father in the kitchen, when they were sent to fetch desserts.

“Alain,” his father spoke up just as he was about to leave, “that, uh, that painting you did was pretty great.”

He laughed. “Oh, god, that’s not even my best work. Far from it, actually, it’s months old. But thanks.”

His father was watching him rather intently. “You really like art, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s been a while since I saw something you made.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Well, you know.”

He sighed as though he was preparing himself for something, “Alain, if this is really important to you… If doing what you love is more important to you than having money, then… I guess it isn’t really my place to judge you.”

Grantaire gaped at him. “Uh… thanks, Dad.”

His father nodded quickly. “We should probably bring the desserts in.”

Grantaire was in a considerably lighter mood after that conversation, and proceeded to drink too much wine, feeling far more festive than he had all week. By the time the group broke up to go to bed, his head was full of cotton and he found himself clinging to Enjolras as he was led into the kitchen.

“You’re m’ fav’rite person, y’ know that?” he said, leaning on Enjolras’s shoulder as he filled a glass with water and pushed it into Grantaire’s hand.

“Yes, wonderful,” he replied absently, then commanding, “Drink that.”

“Whate’r y’ say, ‘pollo.” He drained the glass, then looked at Enjolras with a lopsided smile. “You’re beautiful.”

Enjolras blinked in surprise, and then shook his head. “I think it’s time for bed.” He put an arm around Grantaire’s waist and helped him up to his room, where he collapsed onto the bed. “At least take your jeans off,” he directed.

“‘ll always get undressed for you,” he said without thinking about it, clumsily struggling out of his jeans.

Enjolras frowned a bit, his eyebrows creasing. “How much did you have to drink?”

Grantaire shrugged as best he could from his sprawled out position. “Mm, dunno.” He closed his eyes and yawned, and a few minutes later was jolted out of a half-sleep when Enjolras joined him in bed. He sighed and rolled over towards Enjolras, nuzzling into his neck. “I love you…” he mumbled drowsily.

It was a minute before Enjolras said anything. “What?”

“…love you. Always have,” he breathed out, “since I firs’ saw y’ speak.”

The pause after he said that was so long he almost drifted off again. “We’ll talk in the morning, Grantaire.”

“‘Kay.” Another shift closer to Enjolras, and he was asleep in seconds.

\- - - - -

Grantaire wasn’t up until almost noon the next day. He sat down heavily next to Enjolras, who had been watching Gavroche play a new videogame he’d gotten, and groaned wordlessly.

Enjolras glanced at him. “Good morning.”

“Is there coffee?”

“Not anymore,” Another groan. “But I can make another pot.”

“You’re a gift to humanity, Ange.”

After Grantaire had two cups of coffee, Enjolras checked on Gavroche, who was still entranced by his game. He took a deep breath, “Can we talk?”

“Sure, about what?” Grantaire saw his serious expression and tensed. “God, did I do something stupid? Whatever it was, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, you didn’t do anything,” he said hastily. “Except…”

Grantaire seemed to brace himself. “Just tell me.”

“You said that you’ve always loved me and I need to know if you meant it or if you were just saying things because –” he said in a rush before briefly hesitating, “because I think I might love you.” He risked a sideways glance at Grantaire.

He looked like he had been hit by a truck. “You – I – could you repeat that?” he asked weakly.

“I… I think I love you.”

Grantaire shook his head. “No. No, you have to be messing with me, there’s no way –”

“I’m serious!” he said urgently. “And I need to know if you were too.”

“Well – well, yeah, I was, but…” He seemed almost vulnerable. “Are you sure?”

“I have never been more sure about anything.”

“And – and I told you –?”

“That you’ve been in love with me since you met me? Yes.”

“And you want to…”

“Be your boyfriend after this trip is over? Kiss you, even if no one’s watching? God, yes.”

Grantaire surged forward and kissed him. It was messy, and he tasted like coffee and stale wine, but it was real, and Enjolras loved every second of it.

“Do you guys have to do that?” Gavroche suddenly complained, sacrificing his spot on the couch to get away from them.

“Grow up, Gavroche,” Grantaire shot back, his hands still linked around Enjolras’s neck, “you’ve seen worse in movies.”

“But I _know_ you guys,” he protested, already wielding his game again. “It’s gross.”

“What’s gross?” Éponine asked, entering the living room.

“ _Them._ ” Gavroche jerked his chin towards the pair.

She gave them a once over, a smug smirk on her face. “Well, that’s not new.” She addressed Grantaire, “Is this still…”

He shook his head, beaming.

Enjolras frowned. “What? Did I miss something?”

“I, uh, I sort of told Ponine about our arrangement.”

“So you guys got your shit together, huh?” she commented. “Good on you.”

“Yeah.” Enjolras smiled and kissed Grantaire again.

“I can’t focus with this mushy stuff going on,” Gavroche announced, getting up to leave.

Enjolras couldn’t help but laugh. He didn’t think he’d ever been so happy.

 - - - - -

On Monday they returned to Paris. Fifteen minutes after Grantaire dropped Enjolras off at his apartment, he got a call from Courfeyrac.

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me!” he shrieked. Grantaire held the phone away from his ear.

“Jesus, calm down, Courf,” he said with a laugh, “Did you expect me to call just to tell you? I knew Ange would when he got back.”

“You call him _Ange_?!” Grantaire winced, and Courfeyrac’s voice became more muffled as he turned away from the phone. “He calls you _Ange_?!”

He heard Enjolras’s voice, faint and placating. “Yes, Courf.”

“You’ve called him that before,” Grantaire reminded him with a smile.

“But it’s _different_ when you do it,” Courfeyrac’s tone suggested that Grantaire would never really understand what he meant.

“I’m glad you’re so happy for us, Courfeyrac,” he said. “Direct all your questions to Enjolras.”

“I get to ask questions?” He sounded delighted. “Okay, he wants to talk to you, here.” There was a shuffle as the phone was passed to Enjolras.

“Why would you subject me to that fate?”

Grantaire grinned. “What are you talking about?”

“Now that you told him to, he’ll interrogate me for the rest of the day.”

He laughed. “Not my problem.”

“Are you busy tomorrow?”

“Nope. Why?”

“Well,” he could hear Enjolras smiling, “I seem to have a painting that needs hanging and I thought you could give me some advice.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He paused. “I love you, Ange.”

 “I love you, too.”

“You _guys_!” Courfeyrac screeched. Grantaire laughed and hung up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! Happy holidays to everyone, I had a lot of fun writing this and I hope you had fun reading it! :DDD

**Author's Note:**

> Yayyyyy I fixed the format! I also changed some other stuff too but mostly grammar and none of the plot.  
> As with my other exr fic, Enjolras's texts are italicized and Grantaire's are both bold and italicized.  
> Also, please don't ask me why this is called Mistletoe. I do not know. I cannot promise that there will be any mistletoe featured in this fic.  
> Thanks to everyone for all the kudos and comments!


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